


To Speak of the Wolf

by Nimohtar



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Bestiality, M/M, Rape/Non-con Elements, Sexual Violence, Werewolf Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-06
Updated: 2016-01-06
Packaged: 2018-05-12 01:54:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,132
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5649415
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nimohtar/pseuds/Nimohtar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>Lupus non mordet suum.</i> When the choice is death or surrender, Harry will do anything to survive.</p>
            </blockquote>





	To Speak of the Wolf

**Author's Note:**

> Mostly canon compliant up until DH, but excludes Epilogue; not particularly relevant either way. 
> 
> Title comes from the Latin phrase “Lupus in fabula”, a quote from Terence’s Adelphoe, meaning “speak of the wolf, and he appears”. 
> 
> ‘Lupus non mordet suum’ is a play on “lupus non mordet lupum”. Translated as “A wolf does not kill his own”.

<><><><><><><>

He could see his quarry in front of him, a figure winding its way over the dusty path, past outcroppings of rock and the scraggly weeds that grew here in this dry, arid place. Harry gripped his wand in his right hand, his fingers clenched tightly around the smooth, familiar wood, flicking it out every so often to shoot out a spell – spells which blasted at rocks and shattered them, and would do so much more to the man he was following were they to hit him.

Gone were the _Expelliarmus_ and _Wingardium Leviosa_ of his childhood. Voldemort was dead, and in the year and a half since, Harry had certainly honed his skills in the art of survival, and war, and death.

It had made him good at what he did now, hunting down rogue Death Eaters and supporters of Voldemort who had escaped capture and punishment.

Death Eaters like Fenrir Greyback.

The tip had come unexpectedly, a simple missive from a source with a rumour placing Greyback in southern Serbia, spotted purchasing potions’ supplies on the edge of a wizarding village.

Harry had barely finished reading the note before he’d been gathering his kit and heading for the Auror international portkey point. Although he’d never been fully initiated and inducted as an Auror officially, working alongside them all these years had certainly given him some advantages, including the use of the Auror networks.

So now here he was, in Central Europe, on the outskirts of civilisation, chasing down a madman werewolf, his Muggle sneakers pounding along the dusty gravel as quickly as his legs could carry him.

In front of him, Greyback twisted his head to glance over his shoulder, sending his thick dreadlocks flying; his grin was savage and entertained, certainly not as frightened as Harry would wish it to be.

He shot off another spell, and this one struck true, hitting Greyback in the shoulder and sending him stumbling – although werewolf reflexes kept him on his feet, and he was soon running again, his long limbs almost bounding over the uneven ground, far more graceful than Harry could manage.

He was losing him, he thought with sudden panic.

Greyback had last been spotted four months ago in northern France, but a bungled Auror mission had allowed him to run free; in Wales a month before that, he’d killed a family of Muggles, and thus his trail continued backwards. He was one of the Auror Department’s Most Wanted, but unlike most of the other Death Eaters, Greyback had no difficulty in hiding in wilderness, fending for himself without magic – it made the traces upon his wand pointless.

Harry forced himself onwards, pushing his body to its limits, his adrenaline rocketing upwards. His jaw tightened with determination; no, he would not lose him, not this time.

He channeled his magic and cast the strongest warding spells he knew, anti-Apparition over binding over magic suppression, aimed at the werewolf. It took effect with a dizzying ring in his ears, a swish of heated air around him, but he didn’t hesitate. He smiled in satisfaction; it was a powerful spell, somewhat on the illegal side, but useful in situations like this. It was a spell for trapping prey, after all.

Greyback skidded to a sudden stop, and spun around to face Harry, and Harry slowed his frantic pace, treading towards the werewolf on careful feet, his wand stretched out in front of him.

He could see the werewolf more clearly now: tanned skin stained with dirt, his nails like claws, his clothes ripped and filthy and showing the powerful muscles of his bare chest and arms. His piercing blue eyes narrowed slightly as Harry approached, and he bared his teeth in anticipation and warning.

‘You think to trap me, little boy?’ he taunted, his voice rumbling across the space between them.

 Harry never took his eyes off him, and stopped several metres away. ‘I haven’t been a boy in quite a while,’ he retorted.

 Greyback’s eyes swept over him. ‘Ah well; could have fooled me,’ he said insultingly.

Harry ignored him; while gaining strength and muscles had given him a wiry appearance, he would forever be on the smaller side. ‘I can still take you on in a fight,’ he said instead. ‘So I suggest you surrender now and come quietly.’

He hardly expected him to, but he always had to offer.

Greyback’s head tilted to the side as he looked appraisingly at Harry, and his eyes seemed to glitter in the pale morning light, even as his mouth curled upwards in a sly smile. ‘You think so, do you?’ he said softly.

Harry almost – _almost_ – missed the flick of a wrist which had Greyback’s wand falling into his hand, and then he was casting, shields and curses and charms and hexes, defending against the magical onslaught aimed against him. Greyback was a powerful wizard, his magic hard blasts and slashing cuts, almost bestial, if Harry thought about it closely, fitting his nature.

There was a reason this man was feared, a reason he had been a well known figure in Voldemort’s ranks.

Harry attacked when he could, using reflexes long trained, but Greyback was always faster, and those few times when Harry hit, he brushed off the magic with an easy shrug.

Harry’s stomach clenched, and his mind frantically searched for any tips he could recall about fighting werewolves.

_‘A werewolf has a natural immunity to many spells, more so leading up to the full moon, when their wolf side is dominant,’_ Lupin’s gentle voice trailed in his mind, the memory rising from the depths of his Defence Against the Dark Arts lessons at Hogwarts. ‘ _While spells at close range prove more effective, it also puts you in the range of the werewolf itself, who can move much faster and with much more power and dexterity than a human ever can. The best option would be to seek higher ground, and put as much distance between you as possible.’_

Lupin’s lectures had been more aimed at providing information for the unlikely event of being attacked by a werewolf in its wolf form, but Harry wasn’t about to have any qualms at using it now.

He continued the game of cat and mouse, curses flying back and forth between them, as he began a slow retreat, his eyes flicking over his surroundings, hoping to find some suitable ledge or outcropping from which to make a stand; unluckily for him, the rocky walls around them were sheer and high.

Greyback let out a chuckle. ‘Thinking of running, little boy? We can’t have that, can we?’

A flex of muscles was the only warning Harry had before Greyback sprung forwards, falling forwards onto his hands and pushing himself up on powerful hind legs, leaping towards Harry like the beast he was inside.

Harry stumbled back and shot off a repelling charm; the yellow light hit Greyback in mid-leap, and he fell to the rocky ground, crouched low on all fours. He gave his body a quick shake, unfazed, expression still hungry, eyes gleaming, and leapt towards Harry once again.

Harry threw himself to the side, narrowly missing being leveled by the larger man, barely keeping his feet. He cursed under his breath. Stupid of him not to realise that Greyback would attack him physically; it was the man’s modus operandi, after all.

He cast a slashing hex at the man, followed swiftly by a shield charm as he retreated several feet.

He was in danger, but he wasn’t frightened – not exactly; he’d been in more situations like this than he could even remember, and would certainly have died years ago had he not learned to adapt. He had enough confidence that he would be able to turn this around too.

He swept his wand into the air above his head, swirling it in great arcs – he could feel the pull of magic in the very air itself – once, twice, three times, and then he released it with a sharp slashing motion, bending his body almost in half.

Around him, the rocks trembled, shattered, began to fall.

The flare of panic was instantaneous, and his distraction cost him. Greyback slammed into him, knocked the breath from his lungs, and he found himself pinned beneath the man’s heavy body. His wand arm was lifted, slammed down, and his wand fell from his numb fingers.

He cried out from the pain, then again when a rock crashed to the ground a scant foot away from his head, and he struggled against Greyback’s hold. The man’s hands tightened, and he pressed Harry further into the ground, before he let out a pained grunt and suddenly released his hold.

Harry wasted no time, squirming out from under the other man, scrambling away, and shielding his head from the debris raining down upon him. His eyes scanned the ground in a desperate hunt for his wand, but Greyback was rising to his feet, already reaching out for him with clawed hands, and the rocks were tumbling down, loud and jarring, and making the ground shudder beneath his feet.

He ran.

Greyback called out something behind him, but Harry was too focused on escaping to hear, his arms raised to protect his head, dodging falling rocks here and there.

His spell wasn’t meant to have had that particular effect, but it must have been affected by his earlier wards – something not unknown, and which he should have remembered might happen.

Constant vigilance, as Moody would have reminded him.

He darted out of the way of another rock, his eyes frantically seeking some kind of shelter until he could escape, but none presented themselves, and he stumbled onwards, biting back a cry as a rock ricocheted off the wall beside him and hit into his shoulder.

He stumbled, his foot sliding awkwardly against the ground, and he pitched forward, narrowly missing striking his head on a small outcropping beside him. All he needed now was a head wound.

He started forward again, and his eyes lighted upon a narrow entrance, almost hidden in the curve of the rock face; he raced towards it, and was almost startled by Greyback’s sudden appearance at his side, the werewolf also headed in the same direction.

No time to worry about it now, he thought, as getting to safety from his misfired spell was far more important. When the rubble cleared, he’d make his way out, find his wand, and try again to catch Greyback – whom he hoped fervently was as unarmed as he.

They reached the narrow entrance at almost the same instant, Harry darting inside first, his smaller frame fitting more easily into the gap; Greyback grunted as he pulled himself inside, but managed, just before a large hunk of rock fell in front of the cave entrance, sealing them inside.

 

<><><><><><><> 

 

His panting breaths sounded far too loud in the darkness, mingling with the echoing ringing in his ears and the thumping of his heart. Shocks and vibrations skittered up through his legs, not strong enough to disturb his balance, but enough to make him uneasy, thoughts of cave-ins and collapsing ceilings featuring prominently in his panicked mind.

It was far from the only thing causing him panic.

Greyback was here, somewhere in the darkness, dangerous most certainly, armed, possibly, and together they were –

‘Trapped!’ he blurted out, his voice cracking slightly in his anxiety.

Greyback’s sudden bark of laughter made him jump, and he instinctively took a step back, stumbling over the uneven ground, his arm flying out and knocking against jagged rocks. He made himself hold still, fearing he would do more damage to himself trying to move in the darkness than he would staying near Greyback. There was no light, just pitch blackness, and his perception was significantly skewered.

He had no wand to light, but he had something almost as good.

He fumbled into the pocket of his hoodie – a Muggle item of clothing, but he’d always been more comfortable in that than robes – and pulled out the heavy metal Illuminator, bequeathed to Ron, but passed on to him shortly after Voldemort’s death.

He flicked it open, and soft light erupted and filled the rocky enclosure in which they’d found themselves; Harry had to shield his eyes momentarily, the sudden contrast making them water. He fought past it though, staring beyond to what used to be the entrance.

Greyback stood with shoulders stooped and his shaggy hair covering his face in a tangled mess; even hunched over, he was still a good two feet taller than Harry. The Illuminator gave him an odd cast, made his face all shadows and sharp gleaming teeth and predatory eyes.

Harry’s gaze swept over him quickly, stilling on his right hand, where he could see the long thin shape of a wand. His body tensed infinitesimally, and his breath hitched in his throat, and he glanced up into Greyback’s face.

The man seemed to read the thoughts in his mind, and his lips pulled upwards in a fierce smile. He raised the wand, casually, rolling it between one hand, then the other, his eyes never leaving Harry.

‘Looking at this, young one?’

Harry’s jaw tightened, and he attempted to keen his voice even. ‘I’ve lost my wand,’ he admitted honestly, as if Greyback didn’t already know. ‘That’s our only chance out of here.’

Greyback glanced down at the wand in his hands, seemingly considering it, and he made a humming sound at the back of his throat.

‘Perhaps…’ he said musingly, and then his eyes snapped back up to Harry, full of dark amusement. ‘But I think, little wizard, you mean it is _your_ only chance out of here.’

He brought his hands down, and the wand broke with a _snap_ and a weak shower of sparks.

Harry let out an inarticulate sound of alarm, stepping forwards almost against his will. ‘What did you _do_?’ he cried out, aghast.

Greyback chuckled loudly. ‘Just making things more fun,’ he told Harry, his voice insidious and chilling.

‘Fun?’ Harry questioned hoarsely, unsure if he even wanted an answer, but unable to prevent himself from asking all the same.

‘Here we are, trapped together in the dark, no way out,’ Greyback continued, and the tone of his voice made Harry’s palms begin to sweat. ‘You’re weak, defenceless, and do you know what the best thing is…? It’s three days until the full moon. I couldn’t have planned this to be more delicious than it is,’ he finished, his voice full of eager satisfaction, as if he were wallowing in the images of it right this minute.

Harry felt his vision grey out, his breath choking in his lungs as panic struck him full force, as horror unleashed itself inside him, crawling through his skin and his veins as the full truth of his situation hit him: he was trapped with a Death Eater, a murderer, a werewolf who would rip him to shreds – and there would be no stopping him.

He twisted to the side as bitter bile spewed from his lips, and the sour stench of it just stung his eyes.

Beside him, the werewolf threw his head back and laughed, the raucous sound setting the hair on Harry’s neck standing on edge.

‘Oh god,’ he moaned, trying to force his shaking limbs to move, to do something, to get his mind thinking; there had to be a way out, there just _had_ to be.

‘No,’ Greyback countered, ‘he’s not here. There’s only me.’

Harry looked up, stared for one lingering moment at the man who would kill him, and fled – with the sound of Greyback’s laughter reverberating behind him.

He scrabbled his way along the narrow passage, the small light clutched tightly to his chest showing the way – if indeed there even was a way, if this path led anywhere but a dead-end.

Harry wouldn’t stop until he’d searched though – he refused to give up yet – give in to Greyback’s taunts, or his own despair welling inside of him.

The narrow corridor led into a wider cavern, roughly four metres by three, high enough that the top of it was hidden, even with the light; it was empty, nothing in it but rocks and rubble, but there! To the right, the dark shadow of a hole, and Harry stumbled towards it. If it was a hole, he might at least be able to hide inside, away from Greyback’s reach – he would likely die of dehydration, but at least it was better than death by werewolf.

It wasn’t a hole, but another passage, smaller than the first, but not small enough if Greyback truly wished to pass. It was shorter than the first tunnel, and as soon as Harry came to the other side, he could tell there was a difference to the last cave; the air was damp rather than musty, and when he reached out a hand to the wall, his fingers came away slick with water. It trickled down the wall, pooling shallowly in a crevice on the floor.

It seemed they would not lack for water then, Harry thought dully, unsure whether this gave him more or less hope.

He trailed his hands along the walls, lifted high the Illuminator, and his heart sank at the realisation of a dead end.

He couldn’t stop the small whimper that left his throat.

He traversed the two caverns and all the tunnels, touching and poking at every inch of them, certain that the light was playing tricks on him, that he’d find his way out in one of the dark shadows, but after what seemed like an hour, but could have been far longer for all his senses knew, he had found nothing.

In the throes of desperation, he seized the magic inside him and attempted to Apparate, even though he knew there would be no success there; he was right. His body constricted itself, preparing to spin into the magic that would transport him from here, but at the threshold he slammed into a barrier and was knocked back down. Again he tried, and again, each time repelled by his own magic, and one he could not banish even if he attempted to; the spell was linked to his wand, and could only be banished by the same.

His strength and energy seemed to vanish between one instant to the next, and he slumped down onto the floor, his back to a wall, his arms wrapped around his knees and his head hanging low while his breath whistled in and out of his mouth, a painful burn at the back of his throat. His eyes were open, but unfocused; even if there had been anything to see beside the black walls and flickering shadows and the dancing light of the Illuminator in his hand, he would not notice.

His vision was filled with teeth and claws and a beast’s eyes, the knowledge that he would be torn apart in this godforsaken hole in Serbia, and no one would know, no one would come to rescue him.

If he’d been a proper Auror, if he’d been constrained by protocol, he’d have waited for permission by his superior to leave for this mission, would very likely have been accompanied by other trained Aurors, who would have been searching for him by now.

But he was Harry Potter, and the rules did not apply to him, and oh how much that was going to cost him now.

A bark of bitter laughter escaped him, and he leaned his head against the wall, unmindful of the rough edges that scraped against his head.

He didn’t even startle at the raspy voice that suddenly erupted from the dark in front of him.

‘Already admitted defeat, have you?’ Greyback’s tone was mocking, as it often was when aimed at him. ‘That’s not like the Harry Potter I know.’

‘Everyone fears something,’ Harry retorted sharply, painfully honest, angered by Greyback’s words – his intention, probably, but Harry could not help it. He’d gone to his death willingly once, as a sacrifice to a greater cause. Was he now to die as a plaything for a monster?

Harry had heard of the stories, after all.

He shuddered slightly, and his eyes fell closed, even as his fist clenched once, briefly, before releasing.

‘“Everyone fears something”’, the other man repeated musingly. ‘I like that,’ he said, voice tinged with glee.

Such a simple creature, Harry thought.

Greyback chuckled, and Harry heard him step forwards, heard the swish of his coat as the large man settled down on his heels. ‘Have you found a way out?’ Greyback asked, and it would have been conversational, if Harry had not known he was being taunted with his imminent demise. ‘Looked everywhere, haven’t you? No way out without your magic, or your wand, and your friends don’t even know where you are. Such a pickle you’re in.’ He tutted in mock commiseration.

Harry just wanted to block his words out – block them out so he could _think_ , because it couldn’t end here, like this. His every word caused Harry’s heart to seize with fear, made images of reports and pictures of Greyback’s past victims flash before his mind.

‘Stop,’ he protested, voice tight.

‘Stop?’ Greyback affected surprise. ‘I’m only telling it how it is, Harry. Stating the facts, as it were.’

It would have been fine if Harry hadn’t known the malicious intent behind it.

He cast a glare at the werewolf, visible only as a gloomy figure and a pair of gleaming blue eyes, reflected in the light that Harry still clutched to his chest.

‘Why don’t you just kill me now and be done with it? Spare me hours of taunting,’ Harry grated out.

‘And what… miss all the fun I have planned?’ Greyback snorted. ‘True, I prefer them a little younger, but you’ll do.’

Harry was moving before the thought had fully formed, his hands curled into fists and reaching out towards Greyback’s face. What fear had he of Greyback now? What could he do to him now that would match what he could do to him in three days?

He collided into the larger man with a yell, fists swinging with force, but little dexterity and skill – it was not as if he’d ever been taught to fight hand to hand. One fist hit Greyback’s cheek, the other swung wild, the Illuminator clattering to the ground a small distance away, and then his arms were pinned by the werewolf’s strong hands, and he was thrown off the other man, landing to the floor with a hard thud and a yelp of pain. Greyback’s body settled over his, one knee planted firmly in his stomach and squeezing the air from his lungs, Greyback’s left hand closing around his throat and pinning him to the ground.

He saw stars as Greyback’s other hand lashed out and caught him around the face, and then that strong grip was curling around his chin, lifting his face towards the werewolf’s. He could see the anger in his expression, the bared teeth, and his momentary courage wilted beneath it.

‘A stupid move from a foolish boy,’ Greyback spat. ‘What did you think you’d achieve? You’re no match for me, none at all.’

‘Had to try,’ Harry managed to grate out, defiant to the last, his eyes blazing desperation and hatred for the man above him, and for his situation.

Greyback’s eyes narrowed, and his lips twitched up into what should have been a smile, but on him was something far more sinister.

The hand on Harry’s chin gentled ever so slightly, and Harry sucked in a breath, which froze in his lungs when the fingers trailed down his throat and the top of his chest, light scratches reaching under his top.

‘What are you doing?’ he asked, his voice wavering.

Greyback didn’t reply, just continued his exploration. In a sharp movement, he’d ripped Harry’s t-shirt down the middle, exposing his stomach, and Harry’s muscles clenched at such a vulnerable position.

‘You’ve got fight,’ Greyback began almost conversationally, ‘and I like that; makes things more interesting.’

Harry didn’t know what to say. He didn’t know whether to keep his eyes on Greyback’s hand and at least get some warning of whatever was going to happen, or look away, better not to know.

‘What if I told you there was a chance of you making it out of here alive?’

Harry’s eyes swiftly found the other man’s, surprise and a flicker of hope lighting inside him; he even momentarily forgot about the hand on his skin.

‘You’ll let me go?’ he asked, and hated the plea in his own voice.

Greyback laughed, a rumbling dry sound. ‘Of course...after the full moon.’

Harry frowned, the momentary flare of hope dying out to be replaced by confusion. ‘I don’t understand,’ he admitted, the words coming through gritted teeth. If this was just another taunt...

Greyback tsked, his blue eyes shining. His hand continued its light movements across Harry’s chest, but it wasn’t a pleasant sensation, and it made Harry’s skin crawl.

‘Do they teach you nothing at school? A lesson, then: if a wolf does not kill its prey, what else might it do?’

It took a moment for the answer to come to him, and when it did, his entire body tensed and his vision went hazy. He closed his eyes. His lips trembled. ‘You mean becoming a werewolf,’ he said, his voice faint.

Greyback heard anyway. ‘An Outstanding for you on today’s test,’ the werewolf congratulated. ‘Of course, there’s no guarantee which one the wolf might choose. But… there are ways of influencing the choice.’

He stopped there, and Harry knew he was still playing his cat and mouse game, dangling pieces of information before him, forcing Harry to ask. The worst was it would work, he knew, because Harry could not help himself from asking. ‘How?’

He felt Greyback’s body shift and flinched when he felt warm breath at his neck, followed by the swipe of a warm, wet tongue. ‘We’d have to show that you belong to it, of course.’ Another lick followed.

Harry turned his face away, gasping in a soft breath, and squeezing his eyes tighter still. At his sides, his hands clenched. At this moment, he didn’t even have thought for further fight. His mind was too occupied with Greyback’s words, visions playing across his mind. He understood all too well what the werewolf was telling him.

Greyback moved away, releasing Harry completely and rising to his feet.

‘It’s your choice,’ Greyback said. ‘Come find me when you’ve had time to think about it. Don’t wait too long though; wouldn’t want to waste time, now, would we?’

Harry heard his footsteps fade away.

<><><><><><><> 

 

He knew he should move, but he found himself unable to. His eyes seemed glued to the roof of the cave, the shadows playing tricks on his mind as the light from the Illuminator glowed softly a small distance away.

Where did he even begin considering the choice before him?

His mind felt numb, his thoughts sluggish; underneath it, a steady thrum of panic itched under his skin. He’d thought he’d finished with that feeling earlier, but it seemed there was still more inside him.

His mind replayed Greyback’s words, his hands on Harry’s skin, and inwardly he recoiled. He reached up to hold together the ripped front of his shirt, as if that would undo what Greyback had done, as if that would offer him protection against what the werewolf wished to do.

If Harry had thought he’d find a way out with further looking, he’d be doing it right now, but he’d searched the whole place and found nothing. If he tried escaping via the front entrance – which would involve finding some way to dig through the stone covering it – Greyback would stop him, he knew. He was sure the consequences wouldn’t be pleasant.

He would find no mercy there, he knew. Greyback had given him his options – die at the claws and teeth of a werewolf, or submit to him and become one.

There was no other choice.

Both terrified him.

He’d always thought he would die at Voldemort’s hands before the end; and he had, sort of. But that had had purpose; dying here would be meaningless.

The other option was hardly any better. The life of a werewolf was no laugh either; Lupin was certainly an example of that. He’d have to keep it secret, possibly even from his friends, perhaps even quit his job; he’d have to find someone to brew Wolfsbane, and somewhere to lock himself up at night. And it would continue in that way every month for the rest of his life.

It was called a curse for a reason.

Not to mention that he would have to first survive three days at Greyback’s mercy – whatever the former Death Eater had planned, things Harry could only imagine. Harry was under no illusion that it would be pleasant. He expected pain and likely humiliation and whatever perversions Greyback could think of, and Harry would have to accept it, to take it all if he wanted even a chance of survival.

Bizarrely, he didn’t think that Greyback was lying; the werewolf was too simple in his desires, too secure in his power over Harry. He would be content with either end, of that Harry was certain.

And Harry had to make the choice.

It was both easier and harder than any other choice he’d ever had to make.

Foolishness had landed him here, and he would have to pay for his mistake.

 

<><><><><><><> 

 

He wasn’t sure how long he laid there, his thoughts circling in his mind. It was long enough for his muscles to go stiff from lying on the hard floor.

With the decision made, it seemed pointless to put off the inevitable.

He levered himself up to his feet, fetched the Illuminator from the ground, and shuffled with reluctant feet down the cave, his body feeling like it weighed far too much for him to support. He could feel the inner turmoil in the back of his mind, how it transformed into quick breaths and shaking hands, but he pushed it back as best it could.

It wouldn’t help him now.

He found Greyback sitting casually near the front entrance, his legs drawn up and his head leaning back against the wall of the cave. His eyes were closed, but they snapped open at Harry’s approach, and a lazy smile stretched across his face.

‘Made up your mind, have you?’

Harry swallowed, his mouth dry. Despite his decision, it was hard to get the words out.

‘I want to live,’ he whispered, hating how quiet he sounded, the tension in his voice.

The words were like a death knell, his fate sealed in more ways than one.

Greyback’s smile widened and he uncoiled from his position on the floor, stretching up to full height.

Harry had never been as intimidated by his bulk as he was in that moment, knowing that Greyback would use that strength against him, but not knowing exactly how.

In some ways, knowing or not knowing made no difference; whatever it was, he would have to endure it.

Greyback stepped towards Harry, and Harry flinched away when one of his hands reached out and drew a sharp fingernail down his cheek.

‘I’d almost hoped you’d pick that one,’ Greyback said, voice full of anticipation.

The hand on his cheek moved and curled around the back of his neck, strong grip holding him still, and Harry had to fight the instinct to struggle.

‘I’m going to enjoy this,’ Greyback murmured. He smirked. ‘Though I can’t guarantee you will.’

He leant down without warning and pressed his lips against Harry’s, hungry and a little rough, the stubble on his cheeks strange and scratchy against Harry’s, the nails on his fingers pricking into Harry’s skin. Harry froze on instinct at the wrongness of it, his mouth closed and lips stiff.

A moment later Greyback’s mouth was gone, and Harry opened his eyes warily, looking up at the man holding him in place. The blue eyes were staring into his, and Harry’s breath hitched slightly.

Greyback’s fingers pressed into his neck, ensuring his attention.

‘Let me tell you something, little Gryffindor, and I will say it only once, so listen closely. You can be willing, or you can be unwilling; your choice will affect only you.’

Harry breathed in sharply, understanding the warning behind the man’s words – so generous of him to give it, Harry thought bitterly, but inside a touch grateful all the same.

He wanted to say he’d not done this before, that he was afraid, but Greyback already knew, and he didn’t care, and this was his one offer to make it as easy on Harry as possible.

His eyes told Harry to accept, for he would not be given another chance.

Harry would have been a fool not to do so.

He closed his eyes and nodded, and when Greyback’s mouth found his again, he parted his lips on a whimper, letting the other man do as he willed. It didn’t last long, Greyback pulling away and leaving the taste of his mouth inside Harry’s – a taste Harry didn’t want to examine too closely, but was already sparking nausea in his gut.

Greyback’s hand left him as well, and the man stepped away.

Harry watched him warily, knowing instinctively it wasn’t over; this was just the beginning of his torment.

And he was right.

‘Strip,’ came the sharp order, and Harry could barely force his limbs to move. He glanced to the side, found a small crevice in which he could wedge the Illuminator – at least it wouldn’t be dark, though that was small comfort – and then his trembling hands found his clothes, fumbling as he slid off his t-shirt, the button of his jeans, the laces of his shoes, setting them aside one by one.

He thought each motion through one at a time, mind carefully shying away from thoughts of what would happen next. It would be the only way he could get through this, he knew.

Far too soon, he was stood naked, and the chill of the cave suffused him.

He forced himself to look at Greyback, found that the man had used the time to discard his own clothes, few though there were. His coat he’d placed on the ground near one of the smoother pieces of cave-wall, and Greyback stepped to it now, settling down seated onto the floor as he had been before, his knees drawn up and spread.

‘Come here,’ he ordered, his voice daring Harry to disobey.

Harry didn’t, but his steps were slow, full of reluctance, even though he knew that it would most likely only inflame the werewolf more.

When he was a step away, he stopped suddenly, his attention caught by the jutting cock that he could now clearly see for the first time; it stood out against Greyback’s stomach, large and thick, although Harry could tell no more than that in such dim light. It was hardly the first penis that Harry had seen, long used to Quidditch and Auror changing rooms, but all he could think was that soon it would be inside him, in a way nothing had been before, and he did not want it.

And yet, it was also the means of his survival.

Greyback seemed aware of where Harry’s gaze was trained, and he deliberately reached down and gave his cock a long, slow stroke.

‘Like what you see?’ he taunted.

Harry shuddered, but took a deep breath to steady himself. ‘Where…’ he began, but could not force more words through his dry throat.

Greyback seemed happy enough with that, nodding to the place just in front of him.

Harry settled down on the cold stone floor, wincing slightly at the press of sharp rocks against his knees. Once settled, he glanced back up at Greyback, feeling vulnerable and small in ways he never had before.

‘Take it in your mouth, boy,’ Greyback ordered, his tone low and intimate, but a demand that he expected to be obeyed.

‘I…’ Harry uttered, a new surge of fear rising. He’d never done anything like this before – had only experienced it himself twice, a fumbling, awkward affair with Ginny, and a few years later a drunken encounter with a more experienced witch that he could barely remember. Neither of them gave him any confidence.

Greyback’s mouth curled up on one side, his amusement clear. ‘Watch the teeth, little Gryffindor,’ he advised.

Knowing there would be no more help, and knowing that there was no more point in delaying, Harry scraped together the last shreds of Gryffindor bravery, and leaned down, one hand circling the thick, hot cock. He took a bracing breath, opened his mouth, and lowered it over the tip.

The taste struck him first – bitter, and slightly acrid, as if it had been several days since Greyback had washed, and he immediately gagged, his immediate instinct to pull away.

Greyback’s hand suddenly on the back of his neck aborted the movement. Pressure grew, and Harry was pushed downwards, opening his mouth wider to take in Greyback’s flesh out of sheer force.

‘That’s a good boy,’ Greyback said, almost affectionately.

The position was awkward, the muscles in Harry’s back and neck and legs protesting, but Greyback’s hand was a threat and enforcer all in one, and despite the pain, despite the taste, Harry began to slowly move his lips and tongue up and down the length of his cock. His mouth was too dry, and skin caught against his lips, and more than once he scraped his teeth against sensitive flesh; each time, Greyback’s fingers squeezed in warning.

He didn’t look up to the man’s face, didn’t want to see the expression on his face, whether he was enjoying it or hating it; he simply kept his eyes closed and bobbed, continued even as his jaw began to hurt, even when the fullness inside his mouth choked him and made his eyes water, even though his knees had gone numb and his thighs trembled.

He didn’t know how long he’d been at it, when all of a sudden Greyback’s hold on his neck shifted and he was pulled off with no warning. He gasped for breath, finally opening his eyes to meet the werewolf’s, dimly wondering what he’d done wrong. And yet, Greyback did not look displeased, in fact his eyes perfectly gleamed with anticipation.

‘Now for part two,’ he said.

His large hands gripped Harry’s armpits, and he was unceremoniously hauled forward into Greyback’s lap, letting out an undignified yelp, his body recoiling from where he was now pressed far too close to Greyback’s chest. The roughness of Greyback’s hairy body felt uncomfortable against his more tender skin, and he could feel Greyback’s cock like a hot brand against his buttocks.

Greyback kept one arm banded around his waist; his other he lifted to Harry’s lips. ‘Suck,’ he demanded. ‘I suggest you wet these more than you did with my prick, otherwise this next bit is going to be very uncomfortable for you.’

Harry sucked in a startled breath, but blindly did as Greyback asked, taking in the werewolf’s dirty, sharp-nailed fingers. He dredged up every ounce of saliva he could, knowing even as Greyback pulled his fingers away that it wasn’t enough, wouldn’t be nearly enough for what Greyback was planning.

He gritted his teeth and pressed his cheek into the cave wall beside Greyback’s head when those fingers found his puckered anus, tried not to think, tried not to feel when one finger circled, teasingly one, twice, before pressing inside him. He clenched instinctively against it, but it did no good against that probing finger, didn’t stop it from sliding inside him, didn’t stop the second one that joined, or the burn of the scissoring motions that they made.

Greyback didn’t spend more than a few moments on it, and before Harry could even prepare himself mentally for it, Greyback’s fingers had left him, and the man was spitting into his own hand and slicking up his cock. Then both hands were on Harry’s hips, Harry’s cheek was forced away from the grounding wall, and there was the thick blunt cock-head at his entrance.

Greyback rolled his hips upwards, pushed Harry’s downwards, and Harry was being stretched so much he burned, the minimal attempt at preparation nowhere near enough to ease the invasion of that cock forcing its way inside him. Unbidden tears sprang to his eyes, and he blinked rapidly in an attempt to clear them, not wanting to show Greyback how much this hurt him. Even that was taken away from him, Greyback lifting his hand to Harry’s chin and drawing him down so that his lips could lap up the salty tears.

‘You can cry if it helps, little one,’ Greyback told him in mock comfort. ‘I don’t mind.’

There was no comfort in his words, and when he began to move, Harry gave up trying to stop the tears; it was a waste of his energy. He needed all of it to hold onto Greyback’s broad shoulders, hated that he needed to lean onto the man who was using him in such a way, but preferring the stability to the uncoordinated bouncing it otherwise would have been.

Greyback’s lips found his, his tongue demanding, his teeth sharp as they nipped against his tender lips, and Harry just tried to hold on – to himself, to his mind – as Greyback slid in and out of him, again, and again, and again, until with a satisfied grunt, he climaxed, spilling his seed inside Harry, his hands squeezing Harry’s hips so tightly he was sure they’d bruise.

Harry shuddered, still settled on the other’s lap, his body tired and sore, unsure if he could move even if he wanted to.

‘Off,’ Greyback told him gruffly, giving him no choice.

He winced as he forced his limbs to move, gasped at the sharp pain in his backside when he pulled himself off Greyback’s cock, feeling it slip wetly out of him, leaving a trail of semen to trickle sluggishly down his leg. He managed to move only a foot away, sitting down on the cold stone; despite the pain, he didn’t think he could stand at this time.

Greyback had no such trouble, rising to his feet with a small sound of pleasure, stretching his arms over his head. He stepped close to Harry, the cock that had just been inside him right before his face, softened now, a smear of blood just visible as a dark smudge.

He reached down and patted Harry’s cheek mockingly. ‘It was good,’ he complimented, ‘for a start.’

Harry closed his eyes.

 

<><><><><><><> 

 The next two days passed almost in a blur.

After the first time Greyback took him, Harry had barely been given a chance to catch his breath and think of what he’d just done – what had just happened to him – before Greyback had come for him again, lifting him into his arms and against a rough wall before impaling him on his engorged shaft once more. Tired and sore from the previous time, Harry had just borne it, waiting until Greyback was done with him. That time, though, Greyback had pulled out of him and used his hand to bring himself to climax, before taking his spunk-covered hand and smearing it across Harry’s chest and stomach, up his neck and into his hair. Harry had grimaced and shuddered in disgust, but bit back his protests at Greyback’s quelling look.

Just as the first time, once he was done, he’d left Harry to take care of himself, retreating to another part of the cave and settling down for a nap. Harry hadn’t been about to complain at the reprieve from the werewolf’s company and attentions. Harry had taken the chance to gulp down water from the trickle. He left the semen drying on his skin; it had been deliberately placed, he was sure, and to go so far only to fail because of squeamishness just would not do.

His limbs shaking and his stomach cramping from hunger and nausea, Harry tried to think of very little, just close his eyes and will himself to sleep in much the same way he’d done as a child in the cupboard under the stairs.

He’d wake to Greyback’s hands once again, lifting him, positioning him, coating his skin with semen and spit until he stunk of it. At times, he’d use his sharp nail to slice Harry’s skin, then lift his bloody finger and suck it in his mouth, giving a little pleased sound each time.

It almost – almost – became easier the longer it went on, his body loose and slick and prepared for Greyback to take him. The werewolf would whisper words that Harry tried best not to hear, threats mixed with endearments in a way that made it obscene.

Only once did Greyback touch Harry, on the last evening before the full moon, taking his cock into his mouth and hand, coaxing him to hardness and then to orgasm; it was surprisingly gentle after all the roughness of the last few days, and Harry could no longer decide which was worse to bear. He came with a pained whimper, tears he’d thought long dried out leaking from the corners of his eyes. He watched as Greyback took his semen and smeared it across his own face and neck.

There was just enough in him to dredge up the words through his hoarse throat. ‘Is it enough?’

As Greyback rose to his feet he gave a lopsided grin; there was little reassurance in it. ‘Only a few more hours, and then we find out.’

 

<><><><><><><> 

 

Harry startled awake, blinking in the dim light of the Illuminator clutched in his hands. He leaned up on one elbow, causing Greyback’s coat to slide down his bare shoulder where he’d been using it as meagre cover against the cold.

The sound which had woken him came again – a guttural grunt and the snap of bones which echoed in the small space, and Harry bit hard at his lip to stop the instinctual cry of fear that welled up inside him. He’d thought he’d resigned himself to what was to come, thought he’d found that calm that had let him walk through the Forbidden Forest to his death, but he knew it was far from the case. He’d been young, then, a sacrifice to save his friends, an impulsive choice when he thought he’d had no other, and he’d walked with his parents and his godfather. He hadn’t been alone, and naked, trapped in a cave with a werewolf, with only one scant hope for survival which was looking all the more untenable with every resounding growl and howl and scratch and scrape of claws on stone.

It was the full moon, and there was nowhere to run, nowhere to hide, and there was nothing he could do but sit and wait for the beast to find him.

And find him it did.

The hulking werewolf appeared from the shadows of the cave like the thing of nightmares – a mass of muscles and thick fur that crouched on two hind legs, with its front legs that looked more like arms to support it. It scented the air with its snout, and peered through the dark with eyes that flashed golden in the faint light. This was nothing like the scrawny werewolf that Remus Lupin had become. This was a pack leader, an Alpha, a werewolf who gloried in itself.

Its eyes fixed on Harry, and Harry felt all the breath stick in his lungs as the werewolf stepped towards him, strangely delicate for its size. A low growl rumbled from its throat and its jaws fell open slightly showing sharp canine teeth.

Harry scrambled to his feet, his hands clenched so tightly around the Illuminator he could feel its metal ridge cutting into his palm. It was futile, and yet he thought if he were to die, it should be on his feet, not cowering on the floor.

The werewolf’s growl became louder and before Harry could even blink, it had crossed the small distance between them in a single strong pounce, and then it was in front of him, front paws slapping into the stone on either side of Harry’s head, its jaws just inches from Harry’s face. Instinctively he threw up his arms to cover his face, clenching his body against the expected attack – which did not come.

Although the growling continued, the werewolf seemed to be sniffing raptly at Harry’s body, from his crotch, up his stomach, under his arms and to his face. It paused intently when it came to his hands, and then Harry felt the swipe of a warm, rough tongue against his palm. The shock caused him to lose his hold on the Illuminator and it fell to his feet. The tongue returned instantly, lapping at the cut on his palm, and a low growl emerged from the werewolf’s throat. Its warm breath puffed gently against Harry’s face with every snort, the smell earthy and acrid, enough to make him gag.

His heart was pounding in his chest so loudly he thought it would give out, and his throat was so dry, his tongue swollen in his mouth, but the werewolf was continuing its exploration, and then it took a step back, releasing Harry from the cage of its arms. Harry felt his knees go weak. It couldn’t be this easy could it?

The sharp blow of the werewolf’s paw caught him by surprise, and he fell onto the ground, his palms and knees smacking down onto the sharp rock. His ears rang and he had to blink a few times to focus his sight, although all he could see was the rock in front of him, lit by the Illuminator, and the werewolf’s form a dark shadow across it. It approached him, and Harry felt its wet nose sniffing along his back now, from his neck, the line of his spine, down to his buttocks. The touch of it against his sore anus caused him to yelp and attempt to move away, but a low growl and a heavy paw on his back kept him in place, even when the rough tongue slipped out to lave along his abused flesh.

He closed his eyes against the discomfort and indignity, and the part of him that had hoped his ordeal would end there withered away as he felt the beast move over him. The man had staked his claim on him, so why would the wolf be any different?

He cried out in pain as the werewolf penetrated him with his engorged penis, unprepared for the size and shape of it no matter how many times Greyback had taken him. The stretch burned, and he whimpered as tears sprang to his eyes, his fingers scrabbling ineffectually against the rock. The werewolf folded itself over him and Harry could feel its fur all along his back, surprisingly soft on its underbelly compared to the rest of its body. Its paws dropped down to either side of his body, and its jaw rested against the back of Harry’s neck, hot breath warming his chilled skin.

Before Harry could even brace, it began to move, rutting into him with a pounding rhythm that shook his body to the core and proved without a doubt that the beast held all the power here, as if Harry hadn’t known that already! There was no stopping the werewolf, no escaping this ordeal, and so Harry did the one thing he’d learned with Greyback to make it easier for him: he gave up fighting. He let his body lie limp, forced his muscles to relax as much as he could, his eyes half-lidded so that the moving shadows on the wall opposite him became dream-like and unreal and time lost all meaning.

The werewolf’s thrusting grew wilder and a low growl began in its chest, moving to its throat where it erupted in a thundering snarl and before Harry could gather his wits and realise the time had come, sharp teeth pierced the flesh of his shoulder and bit deep, and he felt the warm trickle of salvia and blood run down his neck and arm. At the same time, the wolf’s lower body surged forward and the penis inside him spurted violently, before the knot swelled and the flesh locked inside him, Harry spitted on either end by the creature above him.

The werewolf stilled and withdrew its teeth from his flesh far gentler than it had pierced it, and eased its body down to the ground beside Harry; still linked, his body twisted awkwardly and he found himself on his side, his back to the wolf. Seemingly sated, the creature lapped at the bite on his shoulder, and the action oddly soothed the wound.

Harry tried to shut his mind to it, to the feel of the creature still inside him, the twist and ache of his body, the chill of the stone beneath him and mostly, mostly to the sharp sting at his shoulder, the wound that he knew would scar him and change his life forever – a twin to the lightning bolt that had graced his forehead for much of his life, he thought with bitter amusement. For a time, he managed it, so much so that when the werewolf finally pulled away from him he startled, his body tensing as the beast lumbered to its feet and shook its body. Without another glance his way, the creature stepped over him and padded to the exit of the cave; in the dim light, Harry could see it rise to its back feet, sniffing at the rocks that trapped them inside. It scratched at them experimentally with its paws, and must have found something encouraging, because in the next moment the scratching turned to ferocious clawing and Harry could hear the clatter as chunks of rock fell to the ground around it.

Perhaps the wolf would find a way out, and perhaps it wouldn’t. Harry had no energy left to care.

He shut his eyes and let unconsciousness take him.

 

<><><><><><><> 

 

When he woke, it was to fresh air and sunlight on his face. He blinked sleepily and pushed himself upwards, frowning at the feel of grass under his hands, and his still-naked body. Moving to a sitting position, he stared around himself in confusion, taking in tall trees that circled the small clearing he was in, still not quite grasping where he was or how he’d come to be here. His last memory was of the cave…

With trepidation, Harry peered at his shoulder where he could just make out the marks of the werewolf’s bite – no longer a wound, but a grey-brown scar. When he brought his fingers to it, there was no pain, and it surprised him that the bite had healed so quickly.

In fact, taking stock of himself, he found that he felt surprisingly well. The injuries he had sustained over the last few days had healed, and there was a new strength in his body that he didn’t recognise.

A glance to his side revealed a bundle, and when he reached over, he found the clothes he had worn in the cave, stained and ripped. He grimaced slightly at the thought of wearing them again, wanting nothing more than to burn them, but practicality came first, and he slipped into the jeans and hoodie as quickly as he could, pulling the shoes over bare feet. He felt somewhat more himself when he was clothed once again, and patted absently at his pockets, feeling a small thrill when he came across the hard shape of the Illuminator, absurdly pleased it had not been lost.

He felt conflicted, for he had not expected this courtesy from Greyback, and he wondered what the other man had hoped to gain by bringing him here, by returning his clothes and belongings. Was it gratitude he wished for? The thought of offering his gratitude felt like glass in his throat. He supposed it didn’t really matter. His very survival had rested on Greyback’s selfish desires, his callous whims; that Harry had survived at all was a miracle.

He stared around him, wondering where exactly he was, and more importantly how he was going to find his way home. He didn’t relish the thought of wandering the countryside in search of rescue, but without even a wand to defend himself, he had no other option.

He’d picked a random direction and took a step towards it, when a prickle on the edge of his awareness had his head snapping up in the direction he felt it, and his eyes met those of Greyback, who stepped out from behind a tree. He was dressed as he had been during that first initial chase, and seemed in good humour as he meandered over to Harry, a wand held loosely in his hand.

With a start, Harry recognised the wand as his own, and although he felt relief that it hadn’t been lost, seeing it in Greyback’s hands caused anger to coil in his gut.

‘Leaving so soon, little cub?’ the werewolf asked tauntingly.

‘Are you planning to stop me?’ He retorted, his voice betraying the tenseness in his body.

Greyback threw back his head as he guffawed, and his blue eyes when they came to rest on Harry again were full of amusement. ‘Oh cub, there’s fight in you yet; I am glad I have not broken you.’

The callous disregard for Harry’s pain and turmoil would have been difficult to take if Harry had not already known what a selfish and cruel creature Greyback was, living only for his own pleasures and amusement. Words of rage and hatred lay bitter on his tongue, but Harry swallowed them down, as he’d swallowed many an angry word while living at the Dursleys. There would come no good from it…

The werewolf’s grin receded, perhaps realising Harry would not be baited, and he snorted softly. ‘Here,’ he said, and with a sudden jerk of his arm, threw the wand in Harry’s direction. Harry caught it, and the familiar length and power surging through his arm was a comfort that had his spine straightening and his eyes narrowing at the man just feet from him. He lifted his wand ready to cast, a curse ready on his lips, images of Greyback writhing on the ground in pain, screaming his voice hoarse, body broken and bruised as Harry’s had been. That dark hatred had only taken hold of him a few times in his life – he’d felt it for Bellatrix Lestrange in the Ministry of Magic, for Snape when he’d thought the man responsible for Dumbledore’s death – and now for Greyback who had reduced him to his lowest in ways the Dursleys had never managed.

Greyback held his eyes, and there was a challenge in them, almost daring Harry to attack him, and for several long moments, Harry fought against that urge. Greyback was his enemy, a killer, and it would be Harry’s right and justice to take his revenge or take him captive.

And yet, he thought of how his last attempt to capture the werewolf had ended; he’d been no match for him even with wand in hand, and now he had first-hand knowledge of the man’s strength, which seemed wholly unchanged despite the recent full moon, and knew that he could move much faster than Harry.

The feral grin returned to Greyback’s face, as if he could read Harry’s thoughts. ‘Come little cub; take me, if you can,’ he mocked.

Fury surged, and then just as suddenly withered away as reason prevailed. Harry’s arm fell to his side and Greyback’s eyes glowed with victory, but Harry would not be provoked. He was tired of the games and wished only to go home.

‘Next time, I _will_ kill you,’ he told the werewolf with cold certainty.

Greyback bared his teeth. ‘Cub, I look forward to seeing you try.’

With a wand and no more reason to stay, Harry Apparated away to his small flat. He cleaned himself, burned his clothes, and had his first meal in days. He’d faced death, and survived, albeit at a high price; his fate had changed, and no matter how much he tried to make himself feel human, it was an inescapable truth that he was anything but.

 

 <><><><><><><> 

End

 

**Author's Note:**

> I first started this in 2009, but because it takes me an absurdly long time to complete anything... well, here were are in 2016. I am glad it's done!


End file.
